


Let me be your A-Team

by glittercake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cap!Sam, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Missions gone right, Mutual Pining, New Avengers, Old Man Steve, Onesies, Peter Parker is a gift, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Roommates, Sam and Bucky deal with Steve leaving, Saving Each Other, Slow Dancing under fairy lights, Team Dynamics, White Wolf Bucky, a light angst sandwich with humor inside, canon compliant in certain aspects, friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittercake/pseuds/glittercake
Summary: They will love each other forever more, no matter what comes next. It's one for the books, he knows that in his ever-aging bones.





	Let me be your A-Team

It's after Steve had returned the infinity stones, when Sam and Barnes go back to his place, that Sam hears it for the first time:

Soft, muffled sobs coming from the guest room he set up for Barnes.

Sam has been emotional too. The funeral, having lost people close to them, he figures all the heightened emotions must be getting to Barnes.

Sam was right beside him though, when they let Tony's memorial raft float down the lake. That look on his face...

Barnes' silenced whimpers fade before he can do anything about it. He stays awake that night just in case.

A week passes after that and Barnes just got his box of belongings delivered from the Smithsonian. He sits with Sam to unpack it. It's fascinating seeing items from another era, once wielded by legends… one of whom is now sitting on his couch and has a man bun. How times changed.

Some of the items make Barnes smile.

"This was from the night before I shipped out." he tells Sam, holding an old entrance ticket in his hand, "Went to Stark's exhibit in town." a brief flash of hurt passes over his face.

"Yeah? What'd he exhibit?"

Barnes gives a short laugh, just a breath through the nose and a turned up mouth corner. "Flying car. Was fuckin' fantastic."

Sam sits back, hands Barnes his beer, "Oh man. Did it fly? For real?"

"Nah. Hovered for five seconds tops."

Sam sees the change in his features almost instantly when he picks up a photo next. It's one of Barnes and Steve sharing a candid moment, post-mission given the soot and weapons, seemingly unaware that anyone had been taking the photo.

It's crumpled around the edges, faded yellow-grey, and in Barnes' unaged hand it looks out of its time.

"Uhm." Barnes' voice is unexpectedly thick, face as passive as ever, "Excuse me."

And then he's up and gone behind the bathroom door while Sam sits there with words still on his tongue, still wanting to prompt Barnes to talk through whatever he was feeling.

Give him time, Sam thinks. He just needs a moment, this must have been a lot to take in all at once.

He goes to start dinner, hears the shower turn on and run for about five minutes. He won’t moan about the hot water this time, Barnes needs it. He is absently stirring the pasta when he hears it again.

Those sobs from the other night, they start off as whimpers and grow until he knows it's become uncontrollable.

Sam freezes at first, just listening in horror knowing that gut-wrenching sound is coming from Barnes. He places the spoon down and goes to stand with fingers curled around the handle.  

"Barnes," he says, but there's no answer, the sobs don't even stop, "I'm coming in okay?"

The sight is pretty much what he expected in terms of someone sobbing that way but still, seeing a once deadly assassin sitting in a small heap on the shower floor, hardly visible through the thick steam... kind of thing that rocks him to the core.

Sam rushes in, gets wet before shutting the water off, then kneels down in front of Barnes whose head is resting on his knees.

"Hey… you okay if I touch you? Just putting my hand on your arm. That okay?" he asks quietly.

Barnes' cries have dwindled down to silent sniffs and jerks of his chest.

He nods, much to Sam's relief, watching the hand curl around his forearm. His head tilts to the side, hair plastered over his eyes which Sam wipes out of the way with one finger.

"Hi." Sam whispers and Barnes' red eyes lock with his.

"Hi."

Sounds like he ran a marathon like his throat is burning with lack of air, exhausted. This is normal though, he thinks, it happens sometimes when veterans are reintroduced and exposed to elements of their past. He knows how to deal with all of this though, his hand even has a slightly softer touch just because it's Barnes.

"You want me to help you up? It's pretty cold down here."

"I can get up."

They both stand, Sam hands him a towel. “

Barnes dries his face first, and Sam picks his clothes up to throw it in the hamper. The towel goes around his waist and another around his shoulders to catch the droplets of water from his hair.

Sam follows him to his room but stops in the doorway, "You wanna talk about it?" he offers when Barnes sits down on the edge of the bed.

"You wanna listen?"

Sam's mouth opens all dumb, and he's sure he's gawking because that was the last thing he expected. Barnes is not precisely a forthcoming guy with all his complex emotions and thoughts. Though by now, he knows he can be, with Sam, he can always be.

"Hell, it ain’t every day you talk now is it?"

Sam comes to sit down beside him where his metal and flesh hands are folded together in his lap. There is a small gap between them that Sam thinks he'll leave just for the sake of not being entirely intrusive, but Barnes is the one who shifts closer.

Without prompting, he starts but doesn't look at Sam. "It's always been him and I. Through it all, always together. Then he lost me, and I had to forget who he was—I fought them on it, I think, I wouldn't give in to the pain like I did with the other stuff when it came to him, but in the end… they got it right eventually."

"Steve," Sam says in acknowledgment. He feels that loss too; he misses Steve though he's not gone. Which is the worst way anyone could miss someone, he supposes.

"Yeah. All I had for a really long time, when things got rough. You know what that’s like.” he says to Sam, knowing how much Steve had relied on Sam during their time as fugitives. Sam nods. “Same for Steve, after his ma died, I was his only family. And we promised… we said until the..." Barnes swallows, "We promised, because we didn't know what was coming."

Then Sam gets it. "You feel like he broke that promise doing what he did?"

Barnes shrugs, shakes his head. "Christ, ain't I just so selfish, huh? Are we selfish? For wanting him to have stayed here instead? For wanting him to ourselves?" he pauses and frowns, "I didn't feel the absence last time 'round, you know? Didn't know any better. But now..."

Sam shifts a little closer. He’s not sure if it’s selfish to have wanted Steve to stay with them. Probably. But they feel what they feel.

"I mean my brain was fried; I knew something was missing, didn't bug me though, couldn't wallow about it. You can't get all pissy if you don't even know what you gettin' pissy about. No time for it, anyway."

"But now you feel it? Him not spending his life with you."

Barnes nods, "But not like… we didn't… We weren't like that—"

"I know. I had a best friend too, Barnes. I know."

"Just thought he'd stay, make up for all those years we lost." Barnes turns his head to Sam, gives a smile that doesn't reach his eyes at all, "Like we promised. Together."

"You feel like you wanna talk to him about it?"

"What good's it gonna do, pal? He's happy. All I ever wanted."

"Agreed. We gotta respect Steve's choices, man. Plus, I got about ten thousand frail bone jokes just locked up in the back."

Barnes smiles, nodding, casting his eyes back down to his hands. "I'm sorry, Sam. You lost him too."

"Thanks, man. Just gotta keep movin' forward, you know? What are you gonna do?"

"Shack up with a different, probably even worse super soldier?"

Sam laughs, gets Barnes to at least do some semblance of it too.

"You know, I can keep this flawlessness going for quite a while," Sam says, motions to his face and nudges Barnes in the ribs. Barnes has this disheartened look on his face, so Sam says, "Hey, look I know I ain't no super soldier, but I can stick around if you want me to."

"Kinda livin' in your house, Wilson. We're stuck with each other." Barnes says, and his playful Brooklyn accent is back.

"Sure are." Sam gets up, squeezes Barnes' shoulder, and walks to the door.

"Wilson…"

"Hm?"

"You mean it?"

For a moment he's confused about what exactly.

"You'll stick around?"

Sam smiles, because of course, and he thinks about exactly how true it is that he will. It's an intense kind of thing in his chest, not a responsibility, not an obligation, none of that. But it makes the urge to keep Barnes safe ache within him.  

"Yeah, man. As long as you want. I ain't got no place to go." And even if he did, he'd want Barnes to be there too.

Barnes' smile reaches his eyes this time. "Me too, Sam. Me too."

"Get dressed, mopey. Dinner's ready." Sam says and shuts the door just as the towel hits it, and he laughs.

 

Sam enjoys watching Barnes eat. It’s a reminder of how far they’ve come from him puking his guts out anytime he put something in his mouth, to stealing Sam's Penne off his plate. Small wins are still wins.

They eat quietly at the counter then clean up: Barnes washes, and Sam dries. Barnes wipes the counter and Sam gets them each a beer. It's become a solid routine they fell into without hassle or even trying. It is painfully domestic, but just like Barnes' presence, Sam wouldn't want it any other way.

Once they're done they become potatoes on the couch, sinking down low between the pillows—Sam's got a magnificent fucking couch, might as well be a bed—and opens their beers.

Barnes absently switches the t.v on, doesn't pay mind to what comes on and by the time the 'news anchor' says  _"—but is he worthy of it Jim? Can he fill Steve Rogers’ shoes? What has Sam Wilson done to deserve this? These are the questions America is asking."_

Barnes rummages for the remote and shuts it down. "God fucking damn it," he growls at the blank screen and drags his hand through his hair.

"Nah, man. Let her talk. Put it back on."

Barnes points the remote but hesitates, "You don't have to listen to any of that, Sam."

"There's more?" Sam laughs, "What else have they been saying?"

"Bullshit. That's all. Some nice shit too. Mostly bullshit."

Sam puts his feet up, takes a sip of beer, "Go ahead. Put it on."

Barnes sighs but puts it back on, and the conclusion the folks at news station has come to is:  _"But he's human. Can't take half the hits Steve Rogers did, how will Wilson protect against an army of invading aliens, for example?"_

"Does this dame know you drop kicked a helicopter, an alien General  _and_ the Winter fucking Soldier?" Barnes asks, "I saw the footage."

The anchor lady goes on to say: " _Someone like The Hulk, Thor Odinson. Now that guy can fill Captain Rogers' shoes. That's the kind of hero America needs."_

"Man. Hulk will just use the shield as a canapé platter," Sam says.

Barnes frowns at him. "You're unaffected." it's a simple statement, an observation. Barnes still does that sometimes- calculates and asses and gathers intel as if he's expected to give a mission report.

"Hell yeah, I'm unaffected." Sam tells him, "I ain't here to fill Steve's shoes. Man's got big-ass feet. I'm wearing my own damn shoes, paving my own way. They can follow or fuck off."

"Follow or fuck off." Barnes grins, "Now that sounds like a Captain America thing to say."

"Captain America, huh."

"Hmm" Barnes hums and changes the channel. "Captain Wilson."

Sam snuggles into the lush couch cushions, pulls a throw blanket over him. "Captain Falcon. How's that sound?"

"Like you're getting greedy with badass titles. Choose one." Barnes sticks his feet underneath Sam’s thigh. "I kinda like Captain Wilson." he then says, burying himself under Sam's blanket too.

"What’re you gonna go by? Winter Soldier seems a little outdated."

Barnes narrows his eyes, thinking, "The Wakandans dubbed me White Wolf when I was out there. For obvious reasons."

Sam snorts, "I like that. That's some good shit."

Barnes' head lolls back against the couch, and he smiles something terribly gorgeous, with his tousled up hair and that dark beard... Sam's insides go hot then cold then tingly.

He doesn't know what to make of it. Ain't nothing weird about thinking Barnes is attractive, right? 

* * *

 

 ****"Hey, sleepy." Sam says, knocking on Barnes’ door the next morning, "Hill says they want us at S.H.I.E.L.D before ten.

"Nhg."

Sam laughs, "Come on, man. Got some pancakes and coffee, I know you're pretty easy for all that."

"You know…" comes Barnes’ gruff morning voice along with a rustle and footsteps toward the door. It swings open, and Barnes stalks past Sam with only his boxers on. "I didn't get to sleep for seventy fuckin' years. Looks like we gon' make that a hundred and fifty huh?"

Sam follows him out to the kitchen, "Yeah, well, we got shit to do."

Barnes helps himself to coffee, and two pancakes that he completely covers in syrup then sits down in his usual spot.

"What do they want?" he mumbles with pancakes in his cheeks.

"Hill's doing all the new appointments today after, the uh," he motions to the shield on his couch. "You know."  

The Captain America shield that is now his to wield. Christ, how even does one start to process this? He hasn't really thought much about it since Steve handed it over, thought maybe the dude was confused- happens with old people- but Barnes seemed to agree, and Sam trusts him.

"Huh. They gonna put you in spandex too." Barnes says, and he actually looks amused about that, got a teasing glint in his eye.

"The hell they are," Sam grumbles and gets started on his own pancakes. "I'll have cargo pants like I always did. Ain't no Spiderman spandex shit man, what the—"

"It's best for flying, Sam." he cuts in all serious but his mouth's curving up like it's funny, "Wind resistance and all."

Sam points at him with the syrup bottle, "I'm warnin' you. Tell 'em to team you up with the raccoon. Fight to the death for your arm."

Barnes laughs into his beard and looks down, his eyes crinkle, and his cheeks go light pink.  Makes Sam's stomach feel weird.

The pancakes are almost finished, and Sam has half an eye on the morning news when Barnes gets up to refill his cup.

It's not that he means to gawk the way he does, it's just not every morning that there's a gloriously built man standing in his kitchen with only underwear on.

Barnes' eyebrow shoots up when he turns and finds—catches, rather—catches Sam staring at his abdomen.

"Uhm," he says quickly to cover, "How'd you get that? I can never get it to cut right." points to Barnes' V-line, that goes so deep Sam's not sure where the hell it even ends.

"Oh," Barnes looks down and rubs a hand over it. Sam looks away. "Think it's partly the serum. Gotta be right? Don't work out enough for this. Steve didn't either."

"You tellin' me it's some unfair super soldier bullshit?"

"Come on. You doing fine, what're you all bitter for?"

"'Course I'm doing fine, Barnes."

"So, let's see what you're complaining about."

Sam laughs, "What? You want me to take my shirt off?"

"You started it. Come on." Barnes takes a sip of his coffee and leans back against the counter. And if he didn't look so goddamn nice doing it, Sam would throw something at him.

"Jesus. Fine," he grumbles and starts stripping his t-shirt off, "Okay see… look at this."

"It's fine."

"Fuck yeah, it's fine. It's a whole lotta fine, okay."

"Didn't say it ain't!"

"All I'm sayin' is," Sam says pointedly, "I can do with a little more Winter Soldier kinda definition right here you know." he makes a V with his hands down the sides of his hips.

"Hm." Barnes says and puts his cup down, "You bend your knees when you do pull-ups. That's why. Should keep 'em straight."

Sam puts his hands on his hips, "That's all??"

Barnes smirks, "Yeah. Try it."

And well, Sam does have a pull-up bar right above the bathroom door. He wonders if this guy's just fucking with him and getting him to do exercise for shits and giggles. Wouldn't put it past him.

He gets a good grip on the bar anyway and looks at Barnes.

"Now do it like you always do," he says with his arms folded over his chest.

Sam pulls himself up knees bent, feels the same strain he always does and lowers himself.

"Do it again but straighten out your legs like you're sitting on your ass," Barnes instructs, and this time, while Sam gets in position, he reaches out and places his hand on Sam's hip.

Sam's mind goes a little fuzzy, but he does the pull-up. With Barnes' hand on his damn hip like that.

"Feel the difference?"

He does, it's straining and burning, and the muscles flex in several places, definitely more than they do when he does it his way.

"Shit. Yeah, yeah, this is better." Sam breathes and drops himself to the ground. "Thanks, man."

He stares at Sam, something strange on his face, then swallows and says, "Yeah no problem." before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door. "First dibs on the shower!!"

"Hot water, dude!! Leave me some!!" because Barnes can be a real asshole sometimes.

 

"It's the best for wind resistance," says Maria Hill two hours later, holding up blue spandex tights at the new S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. "And it's not spandex,  _per se_."

Sam throws his hands up. "Corduroy spandex is still spandex."

Maria heaves an exhausted sigh, "It is neither of those damn things."

Barnes' head falls back with laughter, arm clenched around his stomach. Sam shoots him a glare, but Barnes just shrugs, with that stupid handsome smile on his face.

"Look, I appreciate—" he motions airily to the not-spandex, "—this. But can you—"

"The problem ain't the spandex." Barnes pipes up, "The problem is that a bullet's gonna go right through this and into our captain over here. So how're you gonna reinforce this? Steve's suit had padding up to his balls, and that man swallowed bullets."

Sam takes a deep breath at the thought of getting shot. "Exactly. Thanks, Barnes. See, he gets it."

Maria rolls her eyes, "Well yeah. I was getting to that before you had a meltdown, Sam." she leads them to the next table where dark navy tact gear is laid out. "Given our new alliance with Wakanda, they've gifted us with vibranium fortified material, this will layer the top of the suit, it's light enough to keep you sailing. strong enough to withstand bullet force, and tact-pantsy enough for pockets."

"Oh, does it absorb kinetic energy too?" Barnes asks. Maria nods, "You should drop it then punch it, see what happens!" he tells Sam.

"Man do I look like an idiot to you?" he says to Barnes and turns back to Maria. "Yeah, this is fine. Thanks. Don't even look at that diaper helmet okay? That's where I draw the fuckin' line."

Maria purses her lips, wants to laugh. "Fine. No helmet. Shuri is working on some reinforced wings too, should be here tomorrow."

"What about Barnes?" Sam asks.

Maria beckons them over to another case containing some sweet looking combat gear, a huge step away from Barnes' gloomy Winter Soldier get up. Black cargo pants with pockets galore for all his goddamn weapons, matching vest with white leather detail. All excellent, real fancy, Barnes will look fantastic in it, except, when Maria brings it out Barnes flinches and steps back.

Sam's immediate response is to cover him, remove him from the situation. He steps in front of Barnes and looks back at the gear, realizes immediately what the problem is.

"He's not wearing a goddamn muzzle. Get rid of it!"

Hill catches on real fast and scrambles to remove the white muzzle from Barnes' sight, orders one of the techs to dispose of it.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realize they'd included that." she rambles, cheeks pink. She leans sideways to see Barnes, and Sam slowly steps away.

"I'm sorry, Barnes," she says earnestly.  

He clears his throat, looks kind of embarrassed although he really shouldn't be. Sam's never wanted to grab someone and hold them so much in his life.

"It's fine," Barnes grumbles and gives the situation a swift change of direction by discussing the rest of the gear. Of course, he wants even more pockets.

They spend the rest of the day at headquarters with Sam's new team, getting acquainted. Spiderman, Hawkeye, and Wanda. It's a good team, it's new and different, very different. Kind of sad too that Nat, Steve, and Tony won't be there to have their backs on missions, he thinks as he's putting on his gloves.

His attention is soon drawn away by a heavy thud and two guys laughing.

He turns to find Clint sparring with Barnes, and he really shouldn't give a shit about how Clint pins Barnes down, shouldn't care that Barnes rolls them over easy like that, shouldn't even notice how Barnes' thighs cage Clint in.  

Shouldn't care at all that Barnes is enjoying it. But Sam's jaw is tight, he's sure it's all over his face too.

Sam gets onto the mats and goes a couple of rounds with Wanda to get his mind off all of that, and it works. She's strong even when she doesn't use the witchy whoo stuff. Knows just where to hit to make it count. Not that anyone would even get that close to her.

Later, as training exercises, Maria assigns the team a mission. Object retrieval that can only be achieved working in sync and using their respective weapons or powers as aid. They set Clint up on the rafters, get him to shoot blunt-headed arrows at random intervals while they dodge and work around the obstacle course.

They find what works is: Sam and Barnes at flank, Wanda center, and Peter overhead. Sam wards off arrows from the left with the shield—and in the process gets acquainted with its weight and what angle to hold it best—Barnes catches or diverts arrows from the left with the arm while Wanda assists with boosts and lifts to retrieve the objects.

Sam and Parker each take a hit the first time around. They repeat the course until not one arrow touches any of them. Maria clocks them in at having completed the set mission with thirty seconds to spare.

They're all sprawled out on the mats afterward, catching their breath. Sam's staring at the ceiling.

Clint kicks his ankle, "What's on your mind, Cap?"

"Just thinking man. Got hit earlier,"

"Yeah, was a fake one though."

Sam sighs, "What if it ain't? What if I take one and don't recover?"

"We will not let that happen," Wanda tells him.

Barnes pushes up and helps Sam to his feet too. "I won't let that happen. Got your six pal," he says quietly.

"If any of you jump in front of a bullet for me Im'a whoop your asses, you hear? Now let's go shoot some stuff."

 

They take it to the shooting range next. Just him and Barnes since the rest don't use guns. Parker and Wanda do something gross yet useful with his web fluid and her red sparkly magic and Clint's out front with his bow and arrow taking a twenty dollar bet with Hill that there is no way he'll miss a target way off on the other side of the training grounds.

Sam puts on the noise canceling headphones, smashes the button to send the target sheet all the way to the back. Barnes, beside him, arches up a brow.  

"What? Don't think I can make it?"

"Of course you can." Barnes says, and gets that little curl to his lip, "Was wonderin' if you can hit bullseye blindfolded, is all."

Oh man, and if that ain't just the cheekiest, full of shit tone Sam's ever heard. Granted, Barnes has all the reason in the world to be full of himself. He was the best sniper in World War II after all. Sam is not at all thinking of James Buchanan Barnes in full forties dress uniform. He's not.

"Okay. Yeah. Is that a challenge, huh? You tellin' me you can hit it without looking?"

Barnes cocks his gun. "Without looking."

He locks eyes with the target sheet—memorizing, Sam realizes—and looks back at Sam. Soft blue eyes settle on him,  it feels like he should swallow or breathe or maybe do both but he can't.

Barnes raises the gun and fires three times, without looking or flinching or hesitating, looking into Sam's eyes. He winks at the last shot, and Sam has to force himself to look away.

There are three holes dead center on the target sheet.

"Your turn," Barnes says.

"Alright, man. What're the stakes?" Sam says, feeling like perhaps he needs to douse his face with ice water, take a shower, get his mind right.

"You make it, you buy take out tonight. You don't make it, you do it anyway. I really want Chinese."

"Kinda bullshit deal is that—"

"I mean it's fine if you can't—"

"You know what." Sam gets into position, stares out across the distance at the bullseye

He knows when Barnes comes up behind him why he should have run away when he had the gap to do it.

"Good aim," Barnes says with his quiet, rough voice right in Sam's ear, and his metal hand slides up to Sam's elbow. Through the buzzing in his head, he also feels Barnes' other hand pressing on the small of his back.

Sam can do this, what's his fucking problem anyway? Never had a hot dude press himself up against his back? Come on, Wilson.

He aims at the target, but then Barnes' hand comes up to cup his wrist, his face turning inward to Sam's neck—he knows that's just to get in the same line of sight as Sam—and it's hot and prickly from his beard,

Barnes makes it worse by grinning, then says, "Focus, Cap."

Sam reminds himself of the task at hand and relaxes into Barnes' hold. "Yeah, well, stop breathin' into my sweet spot."

He's got to really steady himself when Barnes brings both his hands up over Sam's eyes. There's just something about the stark contrast of metal and skin, Barnes so close he can smell his shampoo that sets his blood racing in his veins, heart beating so fast he can barely remember what he's doing.

"Wilson." Barnes laughs, "Fire."

He does. Clean shots, straight aim. Three holes dead center. Barnes smiles bright as daylight.

This. This thing, this smile. It's going to become a problem.

 

That night they're tired and spent and ready to do absolutely nothing. Sam orders Chinese, Barnes sets up a six pack of beers on the coffee table and buries into the couch with a box of noodles on his chest.

He slurps them up one by one, getting sauce in his beard.

"Quit that, it's disgusting," Sam says, but he thinks it's pretty endearing.

Barens answers by throwing one at him.

"I swear," Sam says with a full mouth, throws it back.

Barnes huffs, keeps slurping up noodles, his face lit up by the flashing t.v screen.

Sam forgets to eat.

 

* * *

 

Their first mission objective as the official New S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives: Track and apprehend a very elusive mass arms dealer selling military grade weapon. Then find out who's his buyer.

Sam gets suited up in the jet, and hell, Hill was right the tights ain't so bad. It's light and moves smoothly even with the vibranium layering. And the colors look nice too, dark blue with a little red and one white star.

Despite having been out in the field as often as he has, this is nerve-wracking. The news will surely be covering this mission, he can't wait to hear what the shitheads over at that news station will have to say about it when it's all over.

Parker helps him fit the wings, and they too are lighter. He does all the checks: parachute; red wing activator; ammo rounds; his guns. He's set. Except for one thing.

"Hey Barnes!" he knocks on the lavatory door where Barnes has been for the last 10 minutes. "You alright in there?"

There is a groan and metal hitting ceramic then the door swings open revealing a very flustered and pissed off looking Barnes. But that changes the second he sees Sam standing there. "Can't get my fuckin hair—Oh,"

Barnes finishes his hair up in a messy looking thing behind his head. Makes Sam shift, feeling scrutinized, the way his eyes swoop all the way from Sam's boots to his shoulders, he's gotta do it with his mouth open like that too like he's never seen a Captain America suit.

"What?!" Sam moans, can't stand it anymore.

Barnes seems to remember himself then, shuts his mouth, "Nothing! Looks good, Wilson. Looks real good." says. His hand comes up to Sam's shoulder and gives it a squeeze before he goes to load up his gear with a million weapons.

Sam swallows that giddy little spark in his chest. "Can we do channel checks, please?"

They all tap their earpieces.

"Can I get an 'aye' from Spiderman?"

"Aye!!" says Peter Parker, and dabs upside down from the ceiling.

Sam smiles, "Maximoff, you read."

"Loud and clear Sam," she says through his comms with a sort of Russian accent.

"Hawkeye, you in?"

Clint swallows his coffee, "Yup."

By the time Sam turns to Barnes, he's leaning back against the counter, slotting a handgun into place. He's just gleaming metal and black stealth, staring at Sam with a slanted smirk on his face. Looks beautiful and dangerous all mixed up in one.

"How about you White Wolf. You ready for action, hm?"

Barnes tips his chin up a little, "Got your number, Cap."  

And Sam thinks: yeah fuck, me too. I got you.

Wanda, for some reason, smiles to herself and leaves them in the back of the jet to sit up front with Clint while he lands.

Barnes' hand is on his shoulder again when they land, and Sam spares a quick glance at him. There's that same trace of nerves between Barnes' eyes that he feels between his own.

"Don't get dead," says Barnes and winks when the doors slide open.

"None of you get dead, you hear." Sam turns to look at them all. "Simple in and out. Ain't nothing to get dead about."

Tracking this guy down is easy. He makes a bunch of big and hardly low key purchases. He doesn't cover his tracks, doesn't look over his shoulder even once. Clearly not used to being followed. Doesn't even make much effort to hide the weapons he's hauling out the back of a butchery.

Wanda gets brilliant shots of the weapons and his face, looking like a tourist, and he's still none the wiser. Clint marks each building he purchases from with a tag for S.T.R.I.K.E to clear later.

The idiot only catches on when Sam approaches with Barnes head-on and starts running into one of the buildings.

"There's a chopper on the roof. He's heading straight for it." Clint warns over the comms.

"Barnes!" Sam calls as he flies up to the roof.

"On it!"

Barnes is raging through the inside of the building, glass, plaster, and probably people's doors splatter in all directions.

"Need him alive." Sam reminds the team as they all set out in pursuit.

"Sam, this guy's enhanced. Gotta be. He's moving way too fast."

Sam knows by the sound of a helicopter whirring to life that this dude is already on the verge of escaping their grasp.

"Parker! Secure that helicopter. This guy can't get away!" Sam shouts.

Peter swings up on the roof. Sam gets there at the same time.

Peter's got his webs wrapped around the bottom of the helicopter, keeping it from taking off any further "Can't hold it much longer!" he shouts. Sam sees the webs starting to tear.

Barnes comes in through the comms, "We got company on the second floor. Two headed for the roof. I got the rest."

"Got them." Says Clint and an arrow swoops past Sam's head and impales someone, another knocks one off the side of the building.

Sam makes a swoop up and sideways and gets the cabin door open, manages to grab the man by his collar and pull him halfway out. But he's strong, Barnes was right. Sam extracts the wings and kicks off the side of the helicopter, bringing the guy with him.

The helicopter tips sideways once the pilot is out, coming right at them but Wanda encases and lifts it away.

The guy elbows Sam in the face, he feels the blood rush out of his nose almost instantly, and retorts with a knee to the dude's gut, then hits him in the chest with the shield and knocks him back far enough to get the upper hand.

"Need ground back up, more perps coming out front!" Clint calls, and Peter disengages the webs and swings down to help out now that Wanda is up there.

Sam manages to get up and twist the guy's arm behind his back, lands some solid blows to his ribs.

Unfortunately, Bad Guy is also versed in some crazy acrobatic shit and with one move throws Sam upward, into the propeller blades with brute force before Sam has a chance to retract the wings or fly away.

His wings get mangled up by the blades, he won't be able to fly but he can't waste time with that and sets out after the guy. 

Sam tackles him over the ledge just as Clint fires an arrow into Bad Guy's shoulder, and they plummet for a few seconds before Sam opens the reserve chute to get them both down safely. 

It's still one hell of a knock when they hit the ground since the chute didn't have all that much time to gain air, and Sam blacks out from the impact momentarily. The last thing he sees is Barnes landing beside him—did he just fucking jump from the goddamn roof, god help him—and the team apprehending the perp.

When he comes to Barnes is holding his face, slapping ever so lightly at his cheek. His lips are moving, but Sam can't hear shit. It's one woozy, bright blur. But, he thinks—squinting at Barnes' fuzzy figure holding him—his lips are really pretty. He's got a pretty mouth and...

Above him, Barnes' face goes from the epitome of concern to annoyance.

His vision and hearing finally straighten up just in time for him to hear Barnes' grumble. "Yeah. He's fucking smiling. He's fine."

He's roughly deposited out of Barnes' arms and onto the ground. Barnes stalks off toward the jet without another word.

Parker helps him up, and S.T.R.I.K.E arrives to clear the buildings and take Bad Guy into custody.

"He'll probably need a trip to the E.R. Shoulder's looking kind of nasty," Sam tells the new S.T.R.I.K.E team head. Motions to where the arrow dangles from the perp.

He looks over to Barnes since it's usually something he'd have a silent chuckle about but not this time.

Barnes is pissed. He hardly scowls these days anymore, but he does now.

In fact, he's so pissed he flies the stealth jet back to headquarters himself.

Thing is Parker's sitting up there with him, and they're laughing, so he's not just pissed.

He's pissed at Sam. Great.

 

A couple of hours after debriefing and reports at headquarters, they're back at Sam's place, Barnes still won't look at him. 

Barnes unlocks the front door, arches a brow up at Sam who strides past him with an eye roll.

Barnes walks in and slams the door shut behind him. Stripping off his tact vest and undershirt, he flings it down on the floor where he knows Sam hates. He goes to the kitchen, and after taking out a bowl, the cupboard gets slammed as well. Cereal tossed inside, half of it spilling over. He opens the fridge for the milk only to slam that door too.

"Man! You just gon' keep slamming shit??"

"Depends!" Barnes snaps back almost instantly like he was just waiting for Sam to open his mouth, "You gon' hurl yourself off a goddamn building again??"

"I had the chute!!" Sam shouts back, stripping off his own gear.

And now they're both standing in the center of the apartment, half-naked, yelling at each other. Because now's a good a time as any for a fight.

Barnes shakes his head and growls, "Yeah, what if you didn't, Sam!!"

"Jesus." Sam rubs his hands over his head, puts them flat on the counter. "What did you want me to do, huh? Let him get away? Fail my first mission as _Captain America?"_

"Yeah. If it was gonna cost your _life_ , then yeah." he scoffs, and presses at his left shoulder, roughly, like something's bugging the hell out of him. "What kind of question is that?"

Sam softens then. Damn him. The sight of Barnes in pain is not a thing he can just stand and watch. "Let me have a look at that, yeah?"

Just the like that the argument is forgotten. It kind of always goes like this, Sam realizes. Of all the things they are and do, they never stay mad at one another. Not really.

Barnes doesn't answer, just sits down on the barstool and starts eating the cereal, but he stretches his left arm out beside him for Sam to have a look.

"Gonna touch it now."

"I know," he grumbles, irritated, through a mouth full of cereal and rolls his eyes. This stubborn, bullheaded, long-haired asshole, Sam thinks.

Sam tugs his wrist closer, says, "Yeah well, the day you stop looking like you wanna eat me, I'll stop announcing my every move."

Barnes' eyebrows lift, and his mouth tries to smile around the cereal.

"Shut up, alright. Shut up."

He presses his fingers into Barnes' shoulder, all along the scarring, keeps a careful eye on the way Barnes reacts: every little wince or curl of his fist.

"Hurts, huh?"

"Yeah. Fucking hurts."

Sam glares at him because can he just for one fucking second not do that??

 As if realizing he's being a dick, Barnes swallows and says, "Rub some cream on for me. That fancy stuff you got in the bathroom."

Sam's hand curls around Barnes' metal bicep, he's not even irritated anymore. "How'd you know about my special cream?" he says far too softly for his own liking.

"Inventory. Took it last night," he says and seems a little reserved about old habits he can't quite shake. "We need bandages."

"Okay," Sam tells him, then leaves to get the ointment.

Barnes is still eating when he gets back. Sam sits down beside him again and starts rubbing the gel into Barnes' left clavicle and pec where he thinks the hurt must be gathering up then moves up over the rounding of his shoulder.

Sam tries not to think about the solid, steel enhancements on Barnes' left side, about how they got there. Barnes sighs low and deep when Sam rubs circles with his thumbs over the scar tissue and the meat of his pectoral. He knows if he changes sides, the right will be soft and malleable under his fingertips. He hates that this is Barnes' reality. He admires, however, how goddamn strong he is to live with it.

"I didn't know I was gonna black out like that," Sam tells him, quiet, honest, barely a whisper.

Barnes turns his face to Sam. The kitchen's low overhead light makes his lashes seem ten times longer.

"And I didn't know you could scare me so bad." says Barnes, closes his warm fingers around Sam's wrist, "Didn't mean to be a dick."

"Well, you did just eat the last of my damn cereal again, so…"

* * *

 

For about a week Sam only cooks eggs for breakfast. It’ll teach Barnes to devour cereal the way he does. He’s making omelets today while Barnes sleeps in a little while longer.

Sam’s got the toast warm and saturated with butter and two steaming cups of black coffee ready when he finally hears Barnes' door open.

Sam's morning flips upside down.

Barnes emerges from his room in a navy one-piece pajama suit. Sam's never seen something like that on a grown man. There's a shiny zipper down the front, all the way down to his... uhm... but it's zipped up all the way to his neck. It has feet too, and it's... Wow.

He is unexpectedly parched.

"Uhm, what the fuck are you wearing??" Sam asks, fork halfway to his mouth.

Barnes makes a face at him, looks down at the garment then back at Sam. "A onesie." he says as if that explains it all.

"Ah... Christ... a onesie?!" Sam's kind of sputtering. It's embarrassing. "Why? Why would you-" and then Barnes heads for the fridge and Sam's thinking oh lord, don't turn around… don't... turn...

Barnes fucking turns around.

Sam clasps his hand over his mouth to keep from saying anything or making some type of sound.

It has a butt flap.

An ass has no business looking like that in a goddamn onesie. No business. Sam's gonna have to sit right here, lower half hidden under the counter, for the next 15 minutes or until Barnes decides to leave.

Sam wonders if it is reasonable to want to rub yourself all over someone with no expected end result, sole purpose just being the rubbing of your whole body onto another person who happens to be wearing a navy toddler's outfit? He thinks not.

Thankfully their breakfast gets interrupted by Maria Hill and an emergency call downtown, and Sam doesn't have to stare at this guy in that outfit anymore. Instead, he gets to scramble into his suit, hopping back and forth while trying to get his boots on and at least finish his toast.

On the way out the door, Barnes brings his plate of food with, tells Sam, "What?? You make good eggs!"

And well, Sam's not about to argue with him when he's got his cheek stuffed full like a goddamn adorable hamster baby.

"Let's just go alright, bring your fuckin' eggs," he mumbles, smiles when his back is turned to Barnes so he won't see it.

"Shield!" Barnes calls after him. Sam lifts his arm just in time for the magnets to catch the shield.

"My head, man! What the hell!"

Barnes shovels more eggs into his mouth, shrugs, "Quick thinking, Cap."

Sam wishes he'd put some of that ghost pepper sauce in the omelet like he wanted to.

 

This mission goes smoothly despite being far more chaotic.

They take down a bunch of vigilantes doing some god-awful terrorizing downtown with an army of what they thought was acid robots, but in fact, turned out to be slime. Christ.

Only four buildings, 23 cars, and a bus are irreparably damaged in the process, but the Hulk apologizes and offers to help rebuild because he's that bro now.

Peter splats the bots and their operators against walls with his webs. Sam still thinks it's pretty gross but effective, and S.T.R.I.K.E rounds up bad guys by following a trail of stringy web fluid around the city.

Sam gets in a few great hits with the shield, throws it so hard that he takes out a perp and a lamppost in one go. Barnes grins wide and thumbs-up him from across the road where he body slams a guy into the sidewalk. Sam laughs and flies skyward with his new set of wings to bring down two more slime bots that Wanda disintegrates with her magic.

The city is now a disgusting, gooey slime show, and it's hilarious. Sam and Clint are clearing the streets, checking for remaining vigilantes among the rubble, with Wanda and Parker, directing civilians around the mess and to a safer location.

Barnes is clearing a small toy shop, covered in slime, where people have been trapped for the duration of the fight. Sam and Clint make it to the shop and wait for Barnes on the back of a pick-up.

The place where Barnes is currently inside of has the regrettable name of Uranus Toys.

Clint snorts when he looks up and sees it.

Naturally, Sam can't just let it go.

"Yo. White Wolf. Come in."

"Yeah. I'm here." Barnes grumbles over the comms. Sam hears nasty squelching sounds on the other side.

"Civilians cleared?"

"All out. I might need S.T.R.I.K.E to assist though. They produced the liquid in here, think this was a joke gone wrong. There is fucking slime everywhere, Cap."

"Uh, huh. Tell us what it's like in there, Agent Barnes?" Says Sam, nudging Barton in the ribs.

"Ug. I mean, it's slick man. And it's a tiny shop so—"

Barton keels over beside Sam. "So, it's tight?"

Sam's barely composed anymore.

There's no answer from Barnes and Sam can just picture his face right now, stuck in puddles of goo.

"Come on, Agent, you gotta report back to your Captain," Sam tells him and snorts.

"Jesus Christ." Barnes groans, obviously caught onto Sam and Clint's antics, "Yeah. It's tight, Captain. And it's  _slippery,_  Captain. And I'm so deep inside,  _Captain_ , that S.T.R.I.K.E's never gonna fuckin' find me! Captain!!"

Sam kind of loses it, starts wheezing from laughter and Clint's flat on his back in the truck bed, clutching his stomach.

"Oh, shit. Okay, okay," Sam says, still in stitches. "hang in there. S.T.R.I.K.E is uh…  _coming_."

And they lose it again. Barnes lets out a deep, long-suffering sigh.

S.T.R.I.K.E finally extracts a mighty unimpressed Barnes. He's covered in the shit, it's dripping from his hair, down his eyebrows, between the slats of his metal fingers. Doesn't look dangerous at all.

Sam thinks he looks kind of delightful if he's honest. Kind of a lot.

Barnes, once out of the woods, looks around at the shop name when Parker takes a photo of him.

"Ah, man! Come on!!" he laughs, tosses a piece of rubble at Sam's feet and threatens Parker into deleting the photo.

"Gonna have a talk with your auntie," Banes says to Peter, flicking slime from his fingers onto the pavement beside him.

Sam can't help himself, he's staring at the way Barnes' eyes crinkle in the sunlight, how even covered in slime he's prettier than springtime in Japan.

Barnes catches Sam looking and smiles, that all-consuming, dizzying kind of smile. Sam feels like a goddamn teenager, amped with it, with whatever is going on between them as they stand there staring at one another. Because it's definitely something alright.

He wonders if Barnes has also just realized that whatever it is, is slipping off the platonic scale of friendship real fast.

 

They're home early and take advantage of the free time to visit Steve.

Bucky plays ball with Tony’s daughter in the backyard and Sam comes to sit with Steve on the porch, bringing two coffees with him.

"How have you been keeping up?" Steve asks.

It's still hard to see him this old, he didn't think Steve could age this way. Sam misses fighting alongside him. Misses him, period.

"It's been… Different. We miss you."

Steve smiles, looks kind of guilty. "Good different?"

Sam nods after a moment, "Yeah. Good. Scary. I ain't gon' lie. But we're getting there, you know? As a team."

"Hm," Steve hums and leans back in his chair, turning his attention to where Barnes is crawling in the grass on all fours with little Morgan on his back. "You sure are."

They watch as Barnes gets up and starts running with the girl clinging to his neck, squealing, dark hair billowing behind her. The two of them circle a tree, he stops for her to pick its flowers then sets off running again. This time he neighs like a horse, and she goes slack in a fit of giggles. He catches her and swings her into his arms, kisses her cheek and walks them down to the riverbank where they lie down to catch their breath. Sam can see the smile on his face from where he’s seated on the porch.

He swallows, tears his eyes away, his chest all warm. "When you uh…" he points to Steve's wedding band, "How did you know that was it for you? How'd you know that's the place you wanted to spend your life at?"

Steve looks from Sam to Barnes then back at Sam. His mouth curls up in one corner, his smirk hasn't changed at all. It's still just as telling as always. And it's there all over his face, in his old blue eyes. He knows.

All Sam can really do is shrug, confirming without saying anything, without really even grasping what he's confirming.

"Oh. You just know, Sam. You know when you're willing to die to protect them. Or," Steve twiddles with his wedding band, "when home just ain't home if they're not there with you."

Sam thinks of his own apartment, tries to imagine what it was like before there was this gruff looking, long-haired weirdo occupying his shower; before someone ate all his cereal; before someone hogged the fluffy couch throws. Before Barnes.

Truth is: He can imagine that, quite easily, but he doesn't want to anymore.

Barnes comes jogging up to them, flushed and a little breathless, grabs Steve around his neck and sits down on his lap like a massive child. "Tell me a story, grandpa." He says, and Sam laughs.

Steve groans a little under his weight, punches him in the ribs, "God, you jerk. Get off."

Barnes gets off but not before smacking a rough kiss onto Steve's receding hairline and ruffling a hand through his silver mop of hair.

Sam knows now that they haven't lost Steve. They just have him differently now. And it's still pretty great.

 

That same night he summons the team over for pizza and beer on the rooftop of his building. It's warm and breezy, and the roof is draped with glowing yellow fairy lights, corner to corner, and there's some soft music coming from his phone.

Barnes is still downstairs hissing and cussing about icy cold shower water while Sam pours his first Johnny Black.

He's sitting back in a pool lounger under the open expanse of stars above. The city air ain't all that great, not like he can drag in lungfuls of it and feel revived the way he does when he's flying, but it's open and clear enough that he relaxes.

Parker shows up first, swinging himself onto the narrow ledge. Sam still has near heart failure when he sees the kid pulling stunts like this. It's just not natural for a person to stick to things that way, at such an angle, and not drop to their death.

"Hey Cap," he says cheerily as makes the suit retract into his wrist bands.

"Man, up here I'm just Sam, alright? Grab a drink."

Peter's mouth pulls into a line. Sam knows he's never going to call him by his first name, it's a far reach.

"Hey," says Peter, "I uh, wanted to show you something." and he comes to sit down beside Sam on the lounger and pulls out his phone.

It's a YouTube video of the fight downtown, a miserable disarray of pink and yellow gunk with the Avengers flying overhead. This particular angle follows Sam around in the sky as he shoots down bot after bot, and does some very impressive air circle dodges if he must say so himself.

And, while he's feeling rather proud watching the footage of him with his Cap suit and Falcon wings getting down to business, he can't help the sense of unease creeping up his back about what precisely the taker of this video is aiming for, if those news and talk shows are anything to go by.

The video surprises him when on screen he does a fancy looking low swoop, and a woman's voice pipes up, happily exclaiming, " _That's my Captain y'all!! That's my Captain!!"_  to which her friend replies,  _"Michelle, get outta the way, oh my god!"_

The camera goes shaky, and the video ends.

"Look at the comments," Peter tells him, scrolling down. Then very quietly, as if he knows all of Sam's reservations and insecurities which he has never spoken out loud, he says, "They love you."

Sam is reluctant at first when he scrolls down to the first comment. It reads:  _"I'm shook. Captain America did THAT."_

There is a comment that simply consists of many,  many exclamation points.

_"America is safe. Its skin is clear. Its hair is shining. America is hydrated Amen."_

_"This is the guy you wanna take home to meet your mamma."_

_"I have never felt safer in my life. Marry me."_

_"We don't need no serum, let those motherfuckers learn!!"_

It is endless. The list carries on and on, and the views climb well toward the millions. Sam is reminded that the opinions that matter most are those of the public which he has sworn to protect with the same ferocity Steve Rogers did. That is his primary mission, the one that matters most. And the people he protects are the only ones with a say in whether or not he's doing it right. The people are also not limited to trashy, two-bit news stations.

"It's amazing," says Parker, his face alight with enough wonder and admiration to get Sam all choked up.

"We stan!" At the rooftop entrance, Barnes stands smirking. His hair is down, still wet, and he's wearing a white t-shirt and jeans.

Sam's heart feels too full to be cramped up behind his ribs like this.

"We sure do, Mr. Wolf!" Peter salutes, and Barnes winks. Sam doesn't even want to know what millennial bullshit they're on about.

"Hey," he says to Peter to distract himself from how Barnes looks beneath the yellow lights, "You did real good today, kid." and he squeezes his shoulder. "Couldn't have done this without you."

Peter's eyes go glassy, "Thanks Cap." he says and smiles before shooting up. He wipes roughly at his eyes once his back is turned.

Clint and Wanda show up a little while later, and soon, the roof is cheerful with voices and music and laughter. There is a ratty foozball table up there that keeps Wanda and Peter busy and competitive for a good while. Clint, Barnes, and Sam spectate from the ledge with their drinks in hand.

Sam feels a sense of coherence looking at all of them. His team. He'd give his life for each one of these people, he thinks all nostalgic. If it meant keeping them safe, he'd fight for them with his life.

Barnes must be telepathic. He gives Sam's shoulder an acknowledging squeeze.

Sam offers him a small, thankful smile that Barnes returns.

Beside them, Clint clears his throat, holds up a guitar, "Hey, I brought this old thing along. Wanna hear me screw up a perfectly good song or what?"

"Hell yeah, man," Sam says and pushes off the wall as Clint starts toggling the cords, finding a tune.

Clint plays something nice and slow, he sounds good when he sings. Sam's on the verge of sticking a hand out to Wanda for a dance when Peter snatches her wrist away with a web string and starts dancing with her instead.

He and Barnes stand there looking stupid, and by the looks on the other three's faces, they totally planned this. He wonders if this is what Wanda was smirking about the other day. He wonders if this is all so fucking obvious and that they're the only ones pretending it ain't so.

Barnes hasn't realized yet, he's picking at his nail, so he's pretty surprised when Sam yanks the beer out of his hand and puts it down for him.

"Shut up and dance with me. Come on." Sam says, holding out his hand but looking away to where Peter does some impressive spin that makes Wanda cackle.

Sam's not doing any of that shit though.

He doesn't even need to look at Barnes to know the kind of smile that's on his lips right now. Doesn't need to see to know it's ridiculous and handsome and inexplicable to anyone. They simply won't understand.

"Didn't say a damn thing." Barnes murmurs low and amused but takes Sam's hand in his and comes closer.

"Good."

Sam loops an arm around Barnes' solid muscle back, the other slips between Barnes' fingers and they start to sway slowly to the music. At first, Sam holds up well with the proximity, with how unbelievably close they are, how warm it gets between them where their chests are pressed together.

Barnes dips his head down, his beard tickles against Sam's cheek. "It is good, yeah."

Then it gets hard to breathe, but Sam's not moving away. Not an inch. Wouldn't move ever again if that was an option. He shivers with the urge to just turn his head, find Barnes’ mouth and kiss him stupid, but holds back on that for now.

 

So, there on the rooftop, in the light summer breeze, he dances with the guy he has ever so subtly fallen in love with, their hands clasped, Barnes' fingers curling in the nape of his neck.

Shit. Yeah. He guesses that's what it is, huh? He loves this asshole.

Clint chuckles and shakes his head because he sees it on Sam's face just like Steve had. That ecstasy slash shock slash surprise.

Well, shit.

* * *

 

A couple of days later—while Sam figures out how to best ask Barnes out on a date, or at the very least share these disgustingly sappy feelings with him—a shit storm hits again.

They're called in to assist with multiple bomb threats in and around the seven boroughs. Teams of two Avengers are sent out to each location. Sam and Barnes take Brooklyn. Parker, Wanda, Clint, and the others are sent out elsewhere.

Sam arrives with Barnes at an old, seemingly abandoned hospital. Probably won't matter if it blows up anyway, but for everyone's safety, they've got to clear it of civilians and any possible threats. S.W.A.T. teams are circling in behind them, clearing the first floor while Sam and Barnes head upstairs.

"Used to be a HYDRA base," Barnes says. When Sam looks at him, his shoulders are taut and raised, knuckles white around his gun.

"You okay? Wanna bail? We can get someone else in here." Sam offers and makes them stop at the entrance. “I’ll fly us off the roof, no problem.”

Barnes considers it for a moment then shakes his head. "I'm okay. Let's move."

They clear it all the way up to the tenth floor, leaving S.W.A.T way behind. He works like a machine with Barnes, knows his back is covered when he turns, and Barnes rarely takes his eyes off Sam. Always side by side, they don't run ahead of each other, don't pass an entrance or exit without one of them having a gun pointed in that direction.

"Hey Cap," Peter comes in through the comms, "We got a bunch of bogus calls over in Queens. No bombs found anywhere."

Sam frowns, "Get the civilians out anyway. Clear the streets. Stay on sight and keep your eyes open."

"On it."

He's just starting to think this was a false report too, that some asshole thought it'd be funny to get everyone up in arms, until deafening cracks resound through the building, and it carries on and on.

"Machine gun," Barnes confirms, and they both turn to the exit with their weapons drawn, sharing a worried look.

"S.W.A.T. come in. This is Captain Wilson."

No one answers, the line is only static.

He looks at Barnes, wordlessly asking if he hears anything with his enhanced senses.

Barnes shakes his head.

"What the fuck?"

"I don't like this," Barnes mumbles and starts rechecking the floor. Sam tries S.W.A.T. again with no avail.

"Sam!" Barnes calls out, rushing over to Sam just as a tall man steps through the doorway. He's wearing a long brown overcoat—Russian military edition Sam's sure—and he's got a dark goatee like Stark's.

Barnes makes a sound, backs up one step. The same behavior he displayed upon seeing the muzzle. Sam steps in front of him again, like he will always do, and aims his gun at the man in the doorway.

"Samuel Thomas Wilson." the man says, eyes carefully trained on Sam, but not afraid. Not at all. And Sam was right, he's Russian. "U.S. Air Force. Pararescue. Now serving as Captain America, following in God's most righteous' footsteps."

Sam realizes this guy is bad news. "Yeah. And you are?"

He ignores Sam, peers past his shoulder and addresses Barnes instead, "James Buchanan Barnes. U.S. Military." Then he goes quiet, and a chilling grin makes its way to his mouth.

Sam steps totally in front of Barnes now.

The man's head tips sideways. " _Asset_." He says so soft and wicked that Sam's skin breaks out in goosebumps.

"Sam…" Barnes says quietly behind him.

Sam turns his head, doesn't take his eyes off the man, "I got you."

"Now, Captain, if you would please remove your earpieces. Throw them at my feet."

"What?" Sam snaps, "Do I look fuckin' stupid to you?"

"Certainly not Captain. But you do look good in red."

Sam is confused, starts frowning but follows his eyes down to where they're fixed on Sam's chest, along with probably ten red sniper dots.

"Drop the earpiece, Sam," Barnes says urgently behind him and tosses his own at the man's feet. He should have known Barnes would surrender if it meant keeping him safe. Sam was ready to throw down, they could take this guy, he's not even carrying any visible weapons. But, he supposes the minute they let loose though, they'll be riddled with bullets and his suit may be made of Vibranium fiber but his head sure ain't.

So he drops the earpiece.

"Your shield and the wings too, as well as your weapons."

Sam pulls a face, turns around to Barnes, "Is this guy for real? Is he actually—"

"Yeah, like fuck we're doing that," Barnes says and cocks his massive fuck-off rifle.

"Very well. We do this the hard way then." says the dude and steps back into the shadows after whispering "Fire."

Before they know it, bullets fly in through the two windows at opposite ends of the room. Sam uses the shield as cover and ducks back against the wall. Barnes is beside him. Fire seize, and they take shots of their own.

"Two snipers down," Barnes says and aims for another, but he's got a red laser dot right on his pec so Sam jerks him aside and for a second they just stare at the bullet hole in the wall that would have been Barnes' chest. "Thanks!"

"Jesus. How many more??" Sam asks and uses the shield to divert the bullets back while at the same time shooting over the top of the shield. He knows he's hitting them without seeing their position. Just like that day at the range. Barnes remembers too, grins at him through the smoke and chaos and it's fucking gorgeous.

Wall plaster splatters in all directions, covering the room in dust. The remaining snipers finally make it in but find themselves at a loss with Sam and Barnes' combined close combat tactics. Most of them take a ruthless shield to the chest, he's sure he's snapped someone's fucking neck. Barnes has for sure broken a dude's back by throwing him into a cement pillar like a rag doll. Nothing matters now as long as they get out of here.

Sam sees a path, goes for it but a sudden sharp pain shoots through his neck, and he thinks he's been shot, all the woozy tell-tale signs of it flood him. He's on his knees, hears Barnes call "Sam!!" and he's rushing toward him, but the creepy Russian dude is behind Barnes.

"Sputnik!!" he yells, and Barnes drops like a sack of rocks. Out cold.

Sam has no time to panic because everything around him goes black just as his hand touches a dart in the base of his skull.

 

His head pounds when he opens his eyes, every heartbeat a dull ache in his brain. In front of him, Barnes is slumped in a chair, ankles, waist, and wrists restrained—twice around the metal arm. He's seen these cuffs before, not as reinforced but the same type. They're magnetized and seals against the steel block chair.

It's then that he thinks to check himself and finds that he is bound to the chair too. Between them, a large grey cylinder stands, wires and cords protruding from its top. Sam has seen explosives like this out in the field, homemade and dirty and lethal.

Barnes rolls his head back, he's conscious but drugged, Sam realizes much to his own horror. What type of magical HYDRA bullshit have they concocted to subdue even this guy? On Barnes flesh arm, a thick IV needle is taped to the inside of his elbow, feeding a light green liquid into his veins.

"You okay?" he asks Sam, sluggish and thick. He's bleeding from his temple and nose.

"Yeah. Peachy. You?" Sam tries to lift his arm up, doesn't get very far. These restraints are something fierce.

“I’ll live,” says Barnes

"What did this dude tell you, man? How'd he drop you like that? Thought Shuri took all that shit out?" Sam hisses at the pressure around his wrists, balls up a fist and pulls at the restraints again until his shoulder aches.

He keeps working even when he sees Russian dude stroll towards them.

Barnes jerks his body sideways, but his movements are dumbed down from whatever's running through that tube, "I don't know! I don't… I don't remember. Didn't know he could—"

"You are struggling, senselessly, Captain Wilson."

"You HYDRA folk just love talking shit, don't you? Untie me. Take me down like a man. Fucking coward."

"Always so arrogant. It is how you ended up here in the first place."

Sam's losing his patience, and he's really in no position to, "What do you want?"

"You Americans. Destroyed my legacy, my future. I am simply rebuilding it with a vengeance. Can't do that with you in the way."

"Man, I don't even know you are!"

"General Aleksander Lukin. HYDRA ranked. Reported M.I.A. presumed K.I.A. 2014." Barnes comments with a steely, disgusted look on his face, his voice smooth like velvet though.

This asshole's hand tangles up in Barnes' hair, pulling his head to the side. Sam feels  _murderous_. "You remember, Asset. Good job."

Barnes scoffs at him, "How can I forget."

He shoves Barnes' head away, pumps up the IV, and Barnes slumps down in the chair again.

"Look, what the fuck do you want man, I got shit to do," Sam says, trying really hard not to show how absolutely terrified he is.

"The Widow is dead. Rogers and Fury cannot be found. You seem to run the show now Captain Wilson, you bear America's burden. It is your responsibility to pay for your people's tribulations."

Barnes groans and blinks slow, he swallows like his throat is stuffed with cotton.

"And you, Asset," he says to Barnes, grabbing hold of his chin, forcing him to look up, "betrayed your makers, betrayed HYDRA—"

"Hey, asshole, shut up! He didn't betray jack shit. He came home. He ain't your fuckin' asset, you sick motherfucker!" Sam spits out, kicks against the cuffs around his ankles, wrenching with all his fury to get free.

Lukin laughs, pumps the IV one more time, "No matter." He uncaps the top of the cylinder between their legs, revealing a timer and hits the red button beside it.

"No!" Sam screams and starts thrashing as the red numbers descend the countdown: 2:00, 1:59, 1:58.

Barnes pulls himself up, strains against the magnets that circle his wrists, but they don't budge. His eyes go wild with panic, jaw pulling into a knot.

"They'll come for you! They'll all come for you!" Sam calls after Lukin as he sets up to escape through the window.

"Sleep tight, Captain." Lukin sneers and drops off the ledge with a spider hook cord.

"Goddammit," Sam tries again with fast depleting strength to break free. His wrists are bloody and bruised from the friction, and still, he persists, realizes he's shaking and refuses to acknowledge the device between them.

Which is now at 56, 55, 54 seconds.

Barnes is doing the same, trying to break free, his metal arm whirs and clicks against the magnet. Sam wishes he could say it's moving at least an inch. It's not.

"I've gotten out of these before!" he growls, frustrated now and scared just like Sam. Sam knows that look, that desperate twitch of every muscle, the quacking down in the pit of his gut. "Why won't it—"

A quiet presence falls over Sam, and he stops struggling. Once more—perhaps finally—he asses their chances of escape. They're tied with these magnetized restraints far beyond their power to break, and even if they perhaps manage to free an arm, there are still their waists and legs. His team is miles away and unaware of their situation, and if by some miracle they do break free before detonation, his wings are gone, and they're facing a 10 story drop.

And with the timer now ticking down from 30 seconds…

They won't make it. Sam realizes this now. They won't. Barnes struggles in the chair still, and Sam's gone quiet.

Barnes' arm calibrates and retorts against the binds, fails to have any effect, then starts whirring up again. Over and over. Sam doesn't want to die either, he gets it, he had made his own last futile attempts to get out.

But, Sam thinks, there are more valuable ways to spend their last seconds. They don't have to go down fighting anymore. They're already down.

There's just one thing left to do now.

"Hey," He says quietly at first. His voice feels raw in his throat. "Barnes…"

But Barnes doesn't listen, tries again to strain against the magnets. Groans desperately broken when he fails once more.

"Bucky!" Sam calls a little louder, and Barnes' head snaps up to him. Icy grey irises are hidden behind swollen, black pupils. "Hey. Yeah, look at me."

"Sam," Barnes says, and he sounds about as gutted as Sam feels.

"I know." He says, "It's okay. We're gonna be okay."

They both know this isn't true but Sam hopes he's right to some extent, that after this there'll be that glowing, bright plane of existence where Nat and Tony and Vision are. He hopes that they'll find one another there again, to live out the rest of their days as peacefully as Steve has. That maybe there they can—

"You gotta know, Barnes. You gotta know that…" Sam croaks, worried about time running out and never having said this.

"Don't, Sam. Don't do that. You do that, and it's the end." Barnes says, but he's not fighting anymore. His chin does a heartbreaking wobble though and, if they were in any other situation, Sam would have pulled him close and kissed him right about now.

There are wet trails of tears now rolling down Sam's cheeks.

"It is though. It is the end, Buck." Sam says, and Barnes shakes his head. Sam carries on anyway:

"So I want you to know I love you. I do. Think maybe I always have, Barnes."

Barnes' head tips to the side and his face screws up.  

10 seconds to detonation.

"Jesus Sam. Sam, sweetheart. Me too, me too doll. I love you. You know that, don't you? You know that baby." He babbles, tries to smile, but it just makes him cry more. Hell, it makes Sam cry more too.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. God, you find me, okay! You find me on the other side." Sam tells him, smiling even at the dire end they're facing. He smiles. Because Bucky Barnes loves him too.

They will love each other forever more, no matter what comes next. It's one for the books, he knows that in his ever-aging bones.

Barnes sniffs, grins and says, "You're easy to find dollface. Best fella out there. I'd find you blind, baby."

It breaks Sam's heart and mends it all at once.

3 seconds to detonation.

The tips of their fingers extend toward each other but never touch.

And they close their eyes.

  
  
It's quiet. Somehow. Sam is one hundred percent sure explosions make a hell of a lot more noise than this.

Or, this is the great ever after. That'd make more sense anyway. The peaceful silence all around, heat like the sun's rays shining onto his face, glowing red against his eyelids.

He imagines, laying down in a meadow, in lush green grass, so relaxed he can't feel his body.

"Sam."

Ah, Barnes… he's here. Probably right beside Sam. Afterlife ain't so bad.

"Sam!"

"Man, what!!??" Sam opens his eyes, irritated, and finds a different scene altogether.

They're very much still alive, his eyes are still wet with tears, Barnes' is red, and he's got a stupefied yet excruciating urgent look on his face.

That, and there's the huge, red, glowing electric ball of… yeah, that's the bomb coiled up and sealed in Wanda's witchy whoo magic.

"Get them out!!" She shouts at Parker who is already using the shield to smash the magnets around Barnes' arms. Kid's strong, it works. He leaves Barnes to crush the other metal cuffs and comes over to Sam.

"Where the hell did you come from??" Sam shrieks, because what are you supposed to sound like when an explosion is literally cradled between you and someone's hands.

"Oh, hi Cap. Don't worry, I'm gonna get you out of here, but we can't find your wings right now, so you and Mr. Wolf's gonna have to hold on to me and I' ma yeet us out this window." Parker, as usual, doesn't shut up but Sam has actually never been happier to see the dude.

Barnes grins to himself listening to Parker yap, he's finally free and helping with Sam's feet. Just a smash from Parker and a crush of metal from Barnes and he's free too. Doesn't expect his legs to be jelly the way they are but he at least makes it to the window.

Wanda stands back all the way to the window, "Go!" she yells, keeping meticulous and balanced control over the raging ball of fire and shrapnel in her extended grasp.

Sam turns to Wanda, "Woah now, how are you getting out? I ain't leavin' anyone—"

"Got it, Cap!" Clint says, swinging onto the ledge outside with an arrow wire.

"Sam! Let's go!" Barnes already has an arm hooked around Parker and Parker's webs are connected to the next building. Wanda nods, Clint nods, and Sam wastes no more time. He runs toward Barnes and Parker.

Parker jumps, and Barnes grabs Sam around the waist.

They swing through the smoggy, smoke-filled air, into an alley. And Sam breathes in deep, rests his head into Barnes' neck.

He feels the soft press of Barnes' cheek against his face, the curl of his fingers into Sam's side. For a couple of seconds, before they hit the ground, Sam wonders if this is even real. The solid warmth of Barnes' body reminds him that it is.

The building behind them implodes sending glass and debris raining down.

On the ground, Wanda and Clint join them out of breath, faces wild with adrenaline. Sam's own heart is pumping bullets, he's not even denying that it partly has to do with the gorgeous, soot-covered face staring back at him.

Sam allows his legs the weakness and sits down flat on his ass in the alley, doesn't give a shit that it's filthy as hell.

"Is everyone alright?" he asks, trying to get his voice back to sounding normal. Although, what is normal when you literally shut the door in death's face? When you were toe to toe with the Reaper, then said 'no motherfucker, not today.' Then what's normal, huh?

"Fine here," Wanda says but looks depleted. He'll take it. She's in one piece. Sam looks at Clint leaning against a dumpster throwing a thumbs up, breathing fast.

Parker retracts his mask. He's standing with his hands on his knees "Jeez," he wheezes, "You guys weigh like, a ton! But I'm alright, yeah."

Sam sighs and relief creeps up tight in his throat. The weight of what happened—of almost dying, accepting that he would die, his love for Barnes, his team saving his life—hits him square in the chest, and Sam drops his head onto his knees and cries. "Oh, man. Thanks. Thank you. Shit." This time his body shakes with it.

Beside him, Barnes sits down with an arm around his shoulder. Peter flanks his other side, lays his head on Sam's arm. Wanda kneels down too, rubs his back in long, soothing sweeps.

"I got a jet two streets down. Whaddya say we get going, Cap huh? Come on." Clint says, squeezing Sam's shoulder.

On the jet, Peter sits up front with Clint while he flies them back to headquarters. Wanda is asleep on the long bench, and when Barnes comes from the bathroom, he covers her with someone's jacket.

Sam gives him a weak grin as he tiredly comes to sit beside him. Barnes lets out a deep sigh, and both his and Sam's heads fall back against the wall of the jet.

Barnes slips his palm up against Sam's. Without a fuss, without making it anything. Sam lets his shaking fingers close around Barnes' hand.

They know each other well enough by now to realize they're not talking about what was said when they were strapped in those chairs, not now.

Right at this moment, in the lurid green lights of the stealth jet, with their hands entwined, so they'll stop quivering, it's their little secret. It's safe between them until they're ready to unwrap it, maybe they'll come to terms with it in the meanwhile.

Perhaps when it's quiet around them, when they don't have any eyes on them, when it is only him and Barnes, and nothing remains but to say it again. And again, and again, until that is all he knows.

But first comes debriefings, and medical examinations, ammo roundup, detailed declarations of every exact move that lead them to getting captured, the estimated casualties, suspected perpetrators...

Sam ghosts through most of it, takes a headache tablet Hill hands him during the debrief and all he wants to do is go home with Barnes.

They find each other silently in the hallway, get to the car, and Barnes drives them back to Sam's place. He turns the heat up because apparently they're both frozen to the bone. Sam hasn't quit shivering, and he can tell even Barnes with his steady hands around the wheel, is only minutes from fraying at the seams like cheap fabric.  

At home, they shower. Sam then Barnes, plenty of hot water to spare. All he wants to do is get in bed to lay his heavy head down. He's bone-tired and shell shocked, shaking from somewhere deep inside that won't be still.

He pulls on a pair of sweats that might actually belong to Barnes and finally submerges himself in the thick, plush feather duvet only for it to be ripped open seconds later.

To his surprise, Barnes is standing there, dressed the same as Sam- just sweats. He gets in and hides them both under the duvet again. Doesn't spare another second before wrapping his whole super soldier self around Sam.

Sam's head is cradled in the bend of Barnes' flesh arm, the metal limb holding his waist tight. Against his forehead, Barnes' lips are tender, barely touching until they do.

Sam buries into him, pulls him closer than he thought bodies could go, then it's only their heartbeats and the sound of Barnes swallowing hard.

"Do it," he tells Barnes with a rough and croaky voice just on the edge of tears, tips his head up to make it easier.

When Barnes looks down at him, Sam's eyes flood warm, vulnerable. "Go on. Do it."

Then Barnes kisses him, something soft and reverent, and they don’t move the first time. Just feels like they should stay there in that moment as perfect and unbroken as it is.

The second time though—when they blink their eyes open slow and smile against each other's lips—he rolls them over and kisses Barnes until they have to stop for air and then some.

The second time he makes it last. The second time he promises himself and Barnes that there will be countless more moments just like this. That he'll kiss him on every rooftop; at every building entrance; before every mission, because it may very well be their last, like today almost was.

Later the two of them are plastered together under the covers. Barnes' back to Sam's chest, his hand safely clasped between the metal, their bodies curved together in the silent room. 

Just before Sam drifts off to sleep, Barnes says, "So... You couldn't have done that earlier?"

"Man." Sam pinches his hip, but kisses the back of his neck, "I take it back."

Barnes smiles, Sam sees it even in the dark, and they fall asleep in the rapture of it all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Shuri is sick and fucking tired of building Sam new wings.


End file.
